


50 Candles

by TessMooreXF



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TessMooreXF/pseuds/TessMooreXF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A big birthday, Mulder and Scully-style!</p>
            </blockquote>





	50 Candles

"50 Candles"

 

Heat on full-blast and a pinkish hue still lingering in the sky,   
they're on their way. Mulder thanks himself for his mid-sized SUV   
as he takes in the myriad suitcases and other sundry items crammed   
into the back seat. He doesn't remember Scully ever being such a   
disorganized packer -- Their years on the road, a painfully   
nomadic existence, taught her well-honed efficiency and a true   
sense of what exactly she might need. Apparently, time has not   
been kind to such skills. 

Then, he's reminded that their opportunities for trips are few and   
far between, and he can't help the lightness in his heart while he   
watches Scully in her jeans and casual jacket climbing into the   
car. Their lives used to revolve around travel, but only of the   
most formal kind. Casual Scully has always been his favorite - he   
sees her so little. He remembers the lump in his throat the first   
time he saw her tiny toes peeking out from under a pair of jeans.   
It was a bizarre turn-on, but he couldn't help himself from   
feeling utterly endeared.

"I hate to break it to you, Scully..." He looks at her in the   
passenger seat, where she stares out the half-frosted window at the   
gray scenery flying by. Its a chilly February morning, the roads a   
white, icy mess and the surrounding trees gnarled. "We're not   
really going to the Bed and Breakfast. I thought we might stop by   
the eye doctor's office and get you some new glasses. Can't have   
you out on the roads with bad eyes. You might be a danger to other   
drivers." 

Her withering look is ruined by the slight upturn of her lips as   
she half-heartedly feigns disinterest and turns back to the view   
out her window. Her hair is pulled back tightly; She rarely wears   
it that way, and he likes it. He enjoys seeing all of her face. 

"I'm sorry I fooled you. It was the only way I could get you out of   
the house. I'm afraid you may become a hermit in your old age." He   
drums his fingers against the wheel. They've been on the road for 10   
minutes, and he can already feel himself warring with boredom. 

This time she doesn't even acknowledge him. In actuality, he's made   
reservations at a quaint Bed and Breakfast in northern Virginia   
State - He used to pass it time and again while he commuted to and   
from his Mother's estate. It always caught his attention, with its   
victorian elegance and stately shape. Long before they'd ever taken   
the plunge into romance, he would think of taking Scully there. He   
applauds himself for getting her there in less than two decades.   
He's also made reservations at the nicest Italian restaurant in the   
vicinity, or so he's been told. 

"This hotel and restaurant better be good, Mulder, if you're going   
to keep reminding me of my impending senility." She quirks an   
eyebrow as she turns back to face him. "You sure know how to make a   
girl feel special." 

"You know I can't help teasing you - Its not like I haven't already   
taken the leap, Scully. I can't call you old with any sort of real   
conviction -- then, I'd have to admit to myself that I'm an old   
fart. The B & B is beautiful, and the restaurant came highly   
recommended. Its a classy place; They might even sing to you." His   
grin is wide and mischevious. She hears his unspoken reminder of the   
last time she was sung to at a restaurant on her birthday. It's a   
time in her life she doesn't enjoy thinking about. She was unable to   
appreciate the whimsy of her birthday night, so mired in the horrors   
of their existence at the time, unsure whether she might make it to   
see her next birthday.

"After twenty or so years with you, Mulder, I'm well past the point   
of blushing." She flashes him a wide grin. 

He sends a brief leer in her direction before turning his gaze back   
to the morning rush-hour traffic. "You're just deflecting. Your real   
fear is how you're going to find the breath support to blow out all   
50 candles!"

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Its still late morning when Scully finally threatens to kill him if   
he won't pull over at the next gas station. They're not far from   
their final destination, about an hour away. Surprising himself, he   
turns down the opportunity for an adult diaper joke and leaves the   
woman in peace while she runs to get the key, then makes her way   
around the building to the bathroom. He can't help but chuckle a   
little at her hurried run. He tops off the tank quickly before   
heading into the station to grab a couple drinks and a snack. 

It doesn't take him long to find two iced teas and a bag of sunflower  
seeds, and he makes his way to the cash register. The man at the   
counter in front of him quietly orders a pack of cigarettes from the   
cashier. As the cashier turns around, Mulder hears the tell-tale   
'snick' of a hand weapon. His heart drops into his stomach like lead,   
and he wishes for another lifetime, when his trusty service weapon   
resided on his person at all times. The cashier is an older man, and   
doesn't seem to notice the sound of the weapon. As the kind-looking   
man in a red smock turns around, his face turns immediately shocked,   
seeing a weapon Mulder's only heard. 

"Open the Goddamn register." The man's voice is affectless, almost   
bored, and Mulder regrets that he has yet to see the man's face. The   
long, greasy, gray-laced hair hanging from his head, and his somewhat   
stiff posture leads him to believe the man's likely in his 50's.   
'Ironic', Mulder thinks. 

The cashier immediatly complies, pushing a release button on the cash   
register. Mulder takes the opportunity to sink behind a nearby shelf  
unnoticed, out of sight of both men. Peeking over a rack of yellow  
corn chip bags, he watches while the assailant quickly moves behind   
the counter. With unnatural violence, the handgun is flipped butt-up   
and the cashier is bludgeoned across the face swiftly. Mulder can't   
help his immediate reaction. 

"Hey!" He drops his drinks and seeds as he stands straight and makes  
his presence known. "Leave him alone!"

The robber's face is revealed to him, a grungy man with a pug nose   
and pock-marked face. His charcoal eyes are disturbingly angry.   
Mulder doubts this is his first attempt at a crime. The man's   
eyebrows rise in surprise and challenge, realizing his potentially   
fatal mistake. His gun comes up to point at Mulder's face. 

Mulder raises his arms. "Take what you need, and leave. That man did   
nothing to you, and you're not going to help yourself by killing  
anyone." 

The slight tremble in the man's hand is noticeable he wars with   
himself. In a huff, he rips a plastic bag from the cashier's station   
and begins loading the bag with cash. Mulder is struck by the sheer   
size of the man, likely well over six feet tall. He looks like he   
might enjoy a beer or two, but the man's arms are beefy and   
intimidating. Mulder's painfully aware of his precarious situation,   
and wishes once more for a weapon. 

The plastic bag full of the register contents, the assailant fixes   
Mulder with one more look before he skitters around the counter and   
makes his way for the door. Busy watching the man, Mulder doesn't   
notice Scully coming back around the side of the building, poised   
to open the door just as the man's leaving. He feels his heart drop  
once more as he suddenly sees her standing inside the doorway,   
having just beaten the man. The burly robber doesn't stop to look  
at her, and Mulder can see his panic. The man's fist comes out   
before Scully can see what's happening, and he lay's a heavy punch  
right to the side of her face, sending her flying into a nearby   
rack, then to the floor. Mulder can hear the sickening sound of   
bone hitting the hard-tiled floor. 

The man is across the parking lot before Mulder can make it to   
Scully's side, and he doesn't care. She'd been knocked into a rack  
of basic camping supplies, small bags of charcoal and chintzy   
plastic cooking aides lying around her on the floor. She's   
conscious, and trying to sit up, dazed. 

"Jesus, Scully, are you ok?" He kneels beside her, and jumps when  
she yelps at his attempt to help her into a sitting position. 

She points to her left arm, just beside him. "I'm ok, but I think  
I dislocated my shoulder when I fell. Can you help me pull my   
jacket off?" 

He tries not to notice the subtle swelling in her face, sure to   
be a blackened eye and cheek before day's end. Its been a long   
time since he's seen her injured by more than an overzealous   
chopping session with a kitchen knife. He can't help the anger   
in his chest. 

He tries to tamp down his anger while he works her injured left  
arm free of her puffy jacket. As the jacket comes off, its   
painfully obvious that her shoulder sits at an unnatural angle,   
and Mulder feels his stomach recoil. Scully scoffs while she   
looks at the shoulder, and he can dimly hear her tell him to call  
the police. 

"I've got to check on the cashier. The guy cold-cocked him. Are   
you sure you're ok?" 

She nods and urges him to check on the cashier. The man is still  
unconscious, but breathing well. Mulder picks up the phone and   
makes the 911 call. He's a little surprised the police haven't  
already shown up. He goes to sit with Scully and wait for the   
cavalry to arrive. 

 

\----------------------------------

 

The man taking Mulder's statement can only be described as a  
Local Yokel. The younger man's thick accent and dim questions are  
wearing on his patience. Clearly impressed by Mulder's ability to   
remember facts as they happened and the pattern of the assailant's  
shirt in relative detail, the man guffaws while he asks Mulder if  
he has any law enforcement experience. The condescension is   
palpable. Finally, Mulder confesses to being 'retired FBI', to the  
young officer's delight. He fades in and out while listening to   
the dull story of how the officer once applied to the FBI. 

By the time he makes it to the ambulance across the parking lot,   
Scully's shoulder is back to its usual shape, her arm stuffed into  
an ugly blue sling. She's arguing whole heartedly with the   
paramedic and detective standing in front of her, fixing them both  
with her single functioning laser eye - her right eye is folded   
under one hell of a purple shiner. 

"Miss Scully -" The thirty-five-ish male detective is every bit as   
patronizing as his deputy counterpart.

"As I said earlier, its Doctor Scully. You can save me your   
condescension, Detective. I worked for the FBI for over ten years."

The anger in her voice does nothing to keep the detective from   
talking down to her. Mulder vaguely hates the man, with his   
lucious head of hair and superior attitude. He reminds him of   
himself. "Then you're well aware, *Doctor* Scully, that its   
necessary for you to go to the hospital, where your injuries can   
be fully charted and used in the event of a trial. It'll be a   
matter of time before we find Old Ronnie -" 

"Old Ronnie?" Mulder interrupts from behind the detective, brow  
furrowed. "You know the asshole who did this?" 

"I suspect, Sir, that Ronnie is responsible for this. Your ID on  
him fits him to a tee, and I can't think of anyone else dumb   
enough to rob a gas station in broad daylight. He was probably   
drunk as a skunk. The guy's down on his luck, tends to get himself  
into trouble so that he can get three square at county while he   
serves his time." The detective sends Mulder a 'business as usual'  
look. 

"Detective -" Mulder raises his eyebrows, fishing for a name. 

"Olivas; Brad Olivas." The detective looks like he's about ready  
to unleash one giant eye roll. 

"Detective Olivas," Mulder addresses the other man respectfully,   
sending Scully a short glance before continuing. "You might   
understand that your blase treatment of this robbery is a little   
insulting, considering that my Wife got the shit beaten out of  
her by a man you don't seem too anxious to find." 

"As I was explaining to your wife, she needs to go to the hospital  
and have a chart opened on her injuries, some photos taken, so that   
we might have a chance of prosecuting Ronnie when I find him."   
Olivas adeptly avoids Mulder's statement.

Scully smiles while she stands in the back of the ambulance. "Well,  
I guess we better get going, then." 

The detective and paramedic both look at her like she's grown a   
third head, unsure of what's just happened. 

"We would both be a little more cooperative, Detective," Mulder   
fixes Olivas with a stony gaze, "If you could find it in your   
heart to stop treating us like a couple idiots who just   
interrupted your breakfast. I'll meet my wife at the Hospital." 

Mulder stocks toward their car, still parked at a pump in front  
of the station, leaving the Detective to shake his head in   
annoyance.

 

\---------------------------------

 

It's hours before they find their way back to their vehicle in a   
mostly-empty hospital parking lot. The Doctors have beaten them   
out, all except their bleary-eyed Emergency Room Doctor, desperate  
for a ten minute dozer in the staff room. Poked, prodded, and   
photographed, Scully looks about ready to drop. She refused pain  
medication earlier, but Mulder can see that she'll be needing the  
Vicodin tucked away in his pocket before too much longer. It'll  
be a bumpy hour's ride to the bed and breakfast. 

In spite of his profuse apologies and insistence that they can go  
back home, she insists that they go forward with their five day   
vacation. She doesn't tell him that she might cry if they go back  
home to do nothing, her maudlin, pain-filled mood insatiable for  
misery. It doesn't take long for her to fall into a light sleep   
when they hit the highway, but once they hit the bumpy off-ramp to  
their destination, she's too uncomfortable to sleep. 

"You told everyone I'm your wife." Her voice is cracking, tired   
and deep. He looks for her face in the semi-darkness, red-tinged   
while they wait at a light. 

He's not sure what to say. "Is that OK?" 

She chuffs a bit. "I liked it. It felt good." She turns to look at  
him, smiling. He's thankful for the darkness, blanketing her   
swollen eye in shadow. "I'm sorry about our dinner reservations."

Any further conversation is interrupted by the light changing. The  
Bed and Breakfast is only a couple blocks down, and Mulder can see  
the lights still on. He'd thought to call ahead while he was at the  
hospital, hoping their reservations could be held. Pulling up hours  
after check-in, Mulder is exceedingly grateful for the kind 'Why,   
Yes!' he'd received over the phone. Unfortunately, their dinner   
reservations were not so lucky. The snooty Maitre'd seemed   
unnaturally delighted to tell him that there would be no further   
openings at his restaurant that week. 

Mulder tries to ignore the suspicious glances from the Innkeeper  
while they're checking in. The woman introduces herself as "Joyce",  
and her eyes are sharp as she watches Scully hanging back sleepily  
while Mulder checks them in. He can imagine what the kindly woman  
of 60 or so thinks when she's introduced to a tiny woman with a   
black eye and sling walking behind a relatively large spouse. Part  
of him wants to beg the woman to understand that he would never   
hurt Scully. The other part of him wants to tell her about how   
many times that tiny woman beat the crap out of a man his size.

He refrains from both, and focuses on getting Scully settled into  
bed once they're shown to their room. He can see the pain-filled   
funk hanging over her as he shows her to the bed and helps her to  
lean back against the pillows. 

"How are you doing? Do you need a pain pill?" His voice is   
exceedingly gentle. 

She shakes her head. "I need to eat first, or else I'll be puking  
my guts out all night. I don't handle that stuff well." 

Mulder nods his head and finds the television remote, handing it  
to her. "In that case, I better get right back out there. Unless   
I want to drive into the city, I'm going to be lucky to find   
anything open right now. Find something for us to watch, ok?"   
He fixes her with his most gentle smile. 

"Thank you, Mulder." 

 

\--------------------------------------

 

When he heads down the stairs, Mulder finds Joyce camped out on  
the foyer couch, reading a nondescript book. He almost laughs   
at the barely concealed contempt in her gaze as she sees him   
come down the stairs. She closes her book immediately. 

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Mulder?" Her   
genteel southern manners can't be overridden. 

"I would like to thank you for holding my reservation, Joyce. I  
know you're very busy this time of year, and that you could have  
very easily rented the room to someone else." He throws in a   
charming smile for good measure. "My wife and I got caught in a  
badly-planned gas station robbery, and she ended up getting   
thrown around a bit, hence our lateness." 

"Oh my!" The older woman throws her arms up, relief plain on her  
face. "I just knew there was no way you would hurt that poor   
thing."

"I was wondering if you could help me, Joyce. I need to find some  
dinner for us. Is there anywhere nearby that might still be open?"  
Mulder congratulates himself on making his way back to the woman's  
good graces. 

"Well, Clark's market is still open, but they've just got those   
nasty microwave burritos. I would go over to Cleo's Diner just up  
the road and ask if they still have any food they can reheat. I   
know they'll have some pies and coffee right about now, but they   
mostly close the kitchen after 9 or so." Joyce practically beams   
at him. 

"It'll have to do. Thank you for your help, Joyce." Mulder nods in  
her direction, and her smile follows him out the door.

 

\--------------------------------------

 

Half an hour later, Mulder stocks back into their room, arms full  
with a bag of soup and a pastry box under his arm. His eyes   
immediately go to Scully, where she's struggling to wake up on   
the bed. 

"I found some soup for us, I think it's chicken soup. It can save if   
you'd rather sleep?" He sets his bags and the box on the dresser   
top. 

Scully pulls herself more upright in bed, smiling. "I'm starving,   
and I really need that pill. Give me the soup, and no one gets   
hurt." 

Mulder pulls the lids off the styrofoam cups and passes her a cup  
and a spoon. He feels a little better as he watches her eat   
enthusiastically. Walking around to the other side of the bed, he  
doesn't bother pulling forward the rest of the thick duvet cover  
before plopping down next to her. She hadn't even turned on the   
TV, and he finds that he has no need to. 

"You said you liked it that I called you my wife." Mulder looks to  
her, delighted by her messy hair and the spoon hanging half out of  
her mouth while she struggles to keep the cup propped against her  
slinged arm. "Does it ever bother you that we didn't get married?" 

She stops to think briefly, pulling the spoon from her mouth and   
taking in Mulder's somewhat guilty look. "Marriage was never the   
goal, Mulder. I think it might have disappointed my mother, but I  
was always more than happy to know that you're mine -- and no ring  
was going to prove to me your faithfulness." 

Mulder smiles wanly, setting his soup on the nightstand beside him.  
"Sometimes I don't feel like I tell you nearly enough how thankful  
I am that you stuck with me. The number of things you gave up for   
me." 

"It wasn't for you -- it was for us. There was no way I could   
continue without you, Mulder. Sometimes you forget that I tried -   
we both did. That year that you were gone, It was almost worse that  
you were alive in my mind. When I thought you were dead, there was  
some finality. But knowing that you were alive, but not with me...   
It was the worst feeling of all. I love you. Don't you forget it."   
Her smile, though tired, is utterly radiant. 

"I love you, too. Happy Birthday, Scully." 

"Let's watch some TV, Mulder." She turns back to her soup, and   
humors him while he turns the set on and looks for an appropriate  
channel for the two of them. 

Before Mulder can find something to watch, he turns to see that   
Scully's fallen to sleep again, once again without her pill. The   
soup cup is still precariously balanced upon her slinged arm, her   
head thrown back and mouth half open. The spoon is in her right   
hand, fallen to the bed. He smiles while he takes in her sprawled  
posture. In the romantically-lit room, he suddenly sees another   
Scully - a fresh faced, soft and unbearably innocent woman. 

Every now and then, he's shocked to think about a past life - a   
life full of conspiracy, action, and intrigue. He's both surprised  
and disappointed to find how easily that life slipped away from him.  
How quickly he was replaced with a normal man, who wants nothing   
more than to enjoy his life and company. Sometimes, he's unable to   
pull himself out from under the immeasurable guilt that comes with   
knowing that his all-encompassing passion had stolen her youth and   
innocence. He's more disturbed to realize that same singular   
obsession had obscured his ability to see the years while they   
passed. 

Turning off the TV, he stands and walks around the bed, relieving  
her of her empty soup cup and spoon. A little coaxing, and she   
settles herself more comfortably on her back while he pulls the   
comforter up around her shoulders. Turning off her bedside lamp, he  
smiles at the sight of the pink pastry box across from him on the  
dresser. 

 

\-------------------------------------

 

She's disoriented when she startles awake in the middle of the   
night. The light from the window is muted, and she can't guage how   
long she's been asleep. It takes Scully a couple moments to remember   
the events of her birthday, and that she must have awoken herself   
when she tried to turn onto her injured shoulder. Squinting to see   
in the mostly-darkened room, she spies her Vicodin bottle sitting on   
the dresser. 

A quick trip to the bathroom, and she returns with a standard issue  
plastic hotel cup filled with water. She almost laughs when she sees  
that Mulder left the bottle open on the dresser. There was no way she  
would be able to finagle a child safety cap in her condition, and she  
silently thanks him his forsight. Choking down the bitter pill, she   
hopes the soup earlier will protect her well enough from any upset the   
narcotic might cause. 

A beam of light from the window catches the pink pastry box next to   
her, and she's intrigued. She doesn't remember Mulder mentioning it,   
but she'd been pretty out of it earlier. The box is noisy while she   
tries to open it with one arm, and she bites her lip as the lid comes  
open. She feels like a child sneaking a snack from the kitchen in the  
middle of the night. What would her mother think if she found her? 

Sitting in the box are two oversized, chocolate-frosted cupcakes. Her  
mouth waters at the sight of them, and she smiles at the two bubble   
candles - one a giant '5' and its counterpart a giant '0'- adorning   
the cupcakes.

Closing the box as quietly as possible, she moves toward the eerie   
glow of the window. Her heart jumps at the sight of pristine snow   
falling outside. She watches the snow blow into the bare trees,   
swathing itself into the gray branches like glittering cotton candy.  
She can just see the pink of the sun in the distance. Its the   
unexpected morning after her 50th birthday. He'll be awake before   
too much longer.

 

\-------------------------------------

The End. 

Please do send feedback! tess.moore.xf@gmail.com


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